


Saturday Morning at Home

by Nepthys



Series: Saturday Morning... [2]
Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-13
Updated: 2008-06-13
Packaged: 2017-10-06 00:14:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nepthys/pseuds/Nepthys





	Saturday Morning at Home

They are both sweating now.  
   
If Sam had looked flushed and dishevelled when he came off the football field he looks positively debauched now, sprawled out on the bed next to Gene. They had come straight home, which may have seemed a bit strange to the others who were heading off to the pub, but Sam had stepped in smoothly with an excuse about following up some lead or other (yet more fancy footwork from Twinkle-Toes Tyler), and they had left.  
   
Sam leans over to kiss Gene again, tongues stroking, languid and sensual.  
   
Gene had been sorely tempted to touch him during the drive home: slide his hand up Sam's thigh and inside those loose football shorts. But he hadn't trusted himself (or Sam) to stop there and it was broad daylight, after all, and even though he sometimes drives when he's been drinking he really doesn't want to be cut out of a car wreck by the fire brigade with his dick hanging out.  
   
So he had waited until they were indoors before getting his hands in Sam's shorts, finding him hot and hard and apparently not at all worn out by his sporting activities on the football field.   
   
He knows what Sam wants, and after last night's little voyage of discovery he wants the same thing, but when Sam starts to roll him over Gene shifts purposely onto his back instead, pulling Sam with him. They twist together, kissing.   
   
Sam had stripped off his shorts before they even made it upstairs and although Gene is naked Sam's still wearing his football shirt, damp with sweat. Gene wonders how a sweaty bloke can smell so good: trust Sam to fly in the face of reason.  
   
Sam's hand strokes up his leg and kneads his thigh, like a cat testing a surface before settling down. That's it, then. Face-to-face this time.   
   
For a moment Sam pulls away, sitting back on his heels, and Gene feels a brief pang of regret as he strips off the shirt in one fluid move. But then it _is_ hot, and Sam's body looks bloody good naked, so its not like he's complaining.  
   
Gene bends his knees. He knows the position; they've done this the other way round, him fucking Sam, so he knows where to lie. But as Sam pushes a slick finger into him what he knows or thinks he knows goes pretty much out of the window, and he's only dimly aware that the wanton groaning noise he can hear is coming from him.  
   
The burning sensation is oddly new and familiar all at the same time, but the feel of Sam's cock breaching him is something he doesn't think he'll ever get used to, even if they do this every day—and then he has to close his eyes for a moment because even though he's pretty sure you can't die from getting too much of a good thing, he really doesn't want to come just yet like some randy teenager suffering from the old 'touch-and-splash' problem.  
   
Then he realises Sam is holding himself still, so he opens his eyes to see Sam looking at him with lust and affection, tinged with concern, and he manages to wrap his legs round Sam's waist (which just goes to show you _can_ teach old dogs new tricks, even though he scoffs at Sam's hippy yoga bollocks), and is gratified to see Sam's expression shift into something altogether more feral. Sam starts moving, carefully at first but getting into his stride, steady and firm, brushing Gene's prostate on every other stroke, and _Christ_ that's good.  
   
He doesn't know where Sam gets the energy from, especially when he picks up the pace, his face flushed and focussed. But then Gene doesn't care because the friction is bloody fantastic against his cock and inside him, and he doesn't have words for the feeling of being filled, and even though his legs are awkward and uncomfortable and Sam is gripping him hard enough to bruise he feels as though something is unfolding, coming apart, and thinks its probably him.  
   
And then he is; coming long and hard as he feels Sam tense and pulse inside him. Sam's face is screwed up into an expression somewhere between pain and ecstasy which would be funny if Gene didn't suspect that he looked the same right about then.  
   
They sprawl there for a moment, spent; and then Sam heaves himself up and grabs his football shirt from the floor to mop up the worst of the sweat and come, looking over at Gene with a satisfied, half-shy half-sly grin. And Gene decides that football is definitely his _second_ favourite sport.

 

END


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